Archive for the ‘bipolar disporder’ Tag

Everybody has a different way of asking for help. I have Bipolar II, with an extra serving of depression. So when I am down so low I cannot take life anymore, I try to give it back with an overdose of my medications and as much Vodka as my body can absorb before I lose consciousness. But no matter how many pills and how much Vodka I’ve ingested, I have still not been able to permanently put myself out of my misery. There is no doubt at that moment in time I sincerely want to kill myself. However, by not swallowing the entire contents of my medicine cabinet straight off, which forsure would bring about my demise, I leave the window open a crack with a parting call to my psychologist triggering an onslaught of help. Could it be that I’d rather wake up feeling sick to my stomach six hours later than remaining unconscious feeling nothing six feet under?

CallingAllCars

The other day I was on Facebook and noticed a message from an old acquaintance. He actually sent it out as a general notice to all his friends. He explained he was feeling intense anxiety, depression and having trouble functioning. He had an appointment with a doctor, but was extremely afraid of having to take medication. I thought it was somewhat strange he was “calling all cars” about his mental condition. Most people are very private about it. I was so intensely secretive I wrote a book about my experiences (BUZZKILL) using my real name. My friend was obviously a mental illness novice. He had not yet learned how to make the dramatic cry for help by atleast threatening to jump from something.

Don’t Buy Generics

The last time I checked my friend had forty-one responses from some very well-meaning people. But when you boiled it down they all had the same advice; “Hang in there. Things will get better over time. I’ll pray for you.” Irrespective of the stupid simplicity of their remarks, it was amazing they all basically offered the same generic response. And, not one person mentioned psychiatric help and medication, which my friend stated he was especially nervous about. It reminded me of someone telling a little kid they are going to the circus, when they are really going to get a rabies shot. And the “I’ll pray for you?” Why not just say, “I’ll waste some time talking to myself about you instead of talking to you.” Here was a true cry for help and in return came the off the shelf generic “You’ll be O.K.” What these people don’t realize is that depression is life threatening, not to be thwarted with a pep talk like before the big homecoming football game.

Go With a Name Brand

Being depressed and despondent is about as real as it gets. So I decided to “keep it real” and reach out with some useful “Name Brand Advice” via email. After all, I suffered from depression and anxiety most of my life. Who better to advise him than an individual who will actually address his concerns. So, I told my friend I have Bipolar Illness, which he may or may not have. But I know well the anxiety and severe depression that goes with it. I urged him to find a doctor who listens to him and what he could expect from medication, if in fact recommended. Also, I suggested he read my book because it specifically addresses his concerns. Moreover, I asked him to purchase five copies and bill it through his insurance. Lastly, I offered to meet with him anytime he needed to talk. He thanked me. Why not? I’m a name brand lunatic.

DiarrheaoftheEmail

Then I let loose a torrent of emails also to help my friend. I talked about medication side effects, finding the right doctor and coming with me to my support group for those who suffer from depression, anxiety and or Bipolar Illness. Each time he thanked me, but never took me up on an offer. Was I getting too involved? Did he not know me well enough to open up? Was I scaring him? Was he afraid of turning out like me? Did he want me to shut the fuck up with my “diarrhea of the email” advice? My mother used to beat a subject to death so badly that if it was health related, it would cure itself by the intermission. Was I becoming my mother? I checked my head for electrodes.

WalkAwayRenee

I finally decided enough was enough with the emails and to leave my friend alone. Walk away Renee. He knows what I have to offer and if he needs me I’m sure he’ll get in contact. Sometimes when we are Bipolar and find someone who is in similar pain, although undiagnosed, we will do anything to bring assistance. We identify with their struggle. But at a certain point that individual has to reciprocate by reaching out. You cannot force help down a person’s throat. All you can do is throw them a life-preserver and see if they take it. If not, let them find their own way. I hear a good chiropractor can cure just about anything. Maybe my friend isn’t ready to come to terms with the possibility of needing psychiatric help? I know when I took my first handful of psychotropic medication (in the prescribed amount), I felt the stigma of being a mental patient as if I was punched in the gut. I was actually disappointed in myself for being so feeble!

Billboards and Bus-Backs

I was beginning to feel like a social marketer for the American Psychiatric Association. Or, a Bipolar Recruiting Agent scouting out depressed people for a Bipolar diagnosis. Nonetheless, I have to be satisfied with having done my very best to help, and leave it at that. Offering too much help can be just as bad as doing none at all. Maybe I should cancel the billboards and bus-backs with my friend’s name on them, urging him to go to the emergency room if his depression gets worse.

You Can Lead a Depressed Person to Water…

Just like I have always subconsciously cracked the window during a suicide attempt, I realized my friend is doing the same with his mass email. He made his cry for help. Although not suicidal, he left an opening for someone to rescue him. However, I can’t fit through it. Maybe I represent too much reality? Whatever the issue, I hope someone can breach the barrier. And I have to be satisfied that I tried to offer assistance. It’s really up to him to accept it. As they say, you can lead a depressed person water, but you can’t make them see a shrink.

Nothing is more frustrating than to spend a couple of days in a ultra conservative chat room debating US politics. Actually, you aren’t really debating anything. You’re just reading the most twisted viewpoints you’ve every heard outside of an institution for the criminally insane. No matter what you say, they can quote figures from obscure ultra right wing conservative web sites run by grown men who refer to liberals as “libby libs” or “demmy dems.” It’s a third grade mentality from those who rode to school on the short bus.

But I put myself in that chat group. At first it was just to hear other viewpoints. I like to vigorously debate politics. But then came the hostility for anybody who isn’t paranoid the liberal government is out to control their lives and that god will seek revenge on them, peppered with slurs against gays and inferences of prejudice against blacks. And I have to admit, I gave it back to them and then some. When you are talking to a bunch of rednecks in the swamps of Florida and the underbelly of Texas, there is tons of great fodder to hurl back. It almost seemed unfair because all they could think to call me was a fag, homo and “Petey.”

OBAMA’S ULTIMATE SOLUTION

Eventually I stopped with the insult-fest and everyone else followed suit, to the best of their sophomoric abilities. I have to admit, I made nice, threw around a few veiled compliments and semi-agreed on a several borderline lucid arguments. I wanted to hear more of this gibberish. It was so grotesquely absurd I couldn’t stay away from it. It’s like a bad car wreck you can’t help looking at on the side of the road.

Basically, their distilled argument is that “President Obama wants to increase the amount of people on welfare so he’ll have a bigger voter base dependent on him via entitlements (conservative code word for “free stuff” from the government). Then, he will change campaign term limits and continue his reign of “king.” That is the bitter syrup of the conservative venom toward Obama.

The details may differ a little, depending the conservative, like “Obama just hates America and wants to destroy it,” or, “he is in a secret alliance with the Muslims and he wants to force the country to worship Islam.” All of these late night radio talk show caller conservatives are never at a loss for these far fetched seizmic scenarios.

LIBERALISM IS A MENTAL ILLNESS

“I’m a dunce and piece of shit.” At least so I’ve been told by the moderator of this chat group. He’s an Orthodox Christian in Wichita Kansas who threatened to “cut me down like a stalk of wheat” because I commented that he does not even read the plethora of right wing propaganda he so virally posts. He just slaps it up there. I think that’s the real definition of a dunce.

Moreover, he also held the contention liberalism is a mental illness. Now on this I am an expert. I’m Bipolar II. I know what it is to suffer from deep depression, exhaustive mania and the two mixed together. Bipolar is mental illness. Liberalism is political philosophy.

THE BIPOLAR CONNECTION

What set my head a reelin’ is that the moderater later posted a sort of apology t. He explained he was recently diagnosed with Bipolar Illness and is trying to control it without medication. Apparently he is having difficulty controlling is anger. I salute him for his honesty.

Ironically, he has no idea I authored “Buzzkill,” One Man’s Disorderly Struggle with Bipolar Disorder in 2011. I was sure Bipolar Illness would be ridiculed by conservatives as god’s punishment for liberals, in spite of the fact a disease is politically neutral. I wanted to extend my support to him as a lifetime sufferer, but I find it hard to believe he’d accept help from a liberal.

Ironically, up until now, unless your employer offers insurance, someone with Bipolar Disorder can not get insured. Obama care will allow people with pre-existing conditions, like Bipolar Disorder, to get affordable insurance for the first time ever. I wonder how this newly diagnosed Bipolar conservative will turn this around to be a negative?

WELCOME COMRADE

Obamacare. The big bad government option. I get chills every time I think of a poor family being able to get affordable health insurance so they can save a little more from each pay check. This could keep some get off government assistance. However, it would also ruin the ultra conservative argument that we are becoming a communists nation through socialized medicine.

Well then welcome Comrade! First Mitt Romney turned Massachusetts communist with Romneycare, and now the entire county is doing it with Obmamcare. The chat group said the rest of the United States are going to fall like dominos under communist rule. Personally I am already being sized for a fur hat before there is a run on them.

Romney really fucked up in Massachusetts. He did something people liked. And now Obama is bringing it to the entire nation. Now it’s a bad thing. No matter what the President does he can not win with the conservatives.

WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS

The last thing I learned being in this ultra conservative chat room is that when all else fails and you can’t make your point, just say “It’s gods will.” One hollow headed woman in the group who usually just quotes scripture and thinks “grits are yummy,” also said “Jesus is pissed. He ain’t no baby anymore and he’s mad. He’s going to get the liberals and good.”

When did Jesus turn god’s son into a Hell’s Angel? I must have missed that sermon. With all this talk of Texas seceding from the United States I’ve been up all night celebrating with the rest of the country. I’d actually like the President to put them on a time-table. It would be like getting rid of a wicked case of hemorrhoids.

THE FINAL CONFUSION

As a Bipolar Disorder sufferer there is always the temptation to go manic on these misguided political and religious narrow minded misanthropes. Either that or they can make you completely depressed to live in a world with human beings that are so completely irrational and warped. You must keep your head and remain logical. Better yet, just ignore them as the fearful, hateful narrow-minded walking contradictions that they are. Do not let them be your trigger. You can not win an argument with irrational fear-mongers.

If everyone in this world agreed it would be a very boring existence. I thrive on diversity and spirited debate. Some of the best ideas are born of compromise. And if you don’t have the capacity to admit you are not always right, you belong on the right. They are never wrong. Just ask one.

First I take the Baggie, the same one I’ve used for at least six years, out of its hiding place in my sock drawer, and put it on my dresser. Filled to the brim with plastic prescription bottles, they’ve punched wholes through the material greatly limiting its days of functionality.

Like Pigpen’s blanket, the thought of getting rid of it upsets me. That Zip Lock and I have come such a long way together. The end of a marriage. A divorce. A year being single. An engagement. Now a broken engagement and I’m alone again. Maybe the Baggie is actually bad luck? No. It couldn’t be. Not my Baggie.

Next I count out all the pills I need from the various bottles. I used to use one of those daily dose containers like the elderly, but I was too lazy to keep refilling them at the end of the week. Then I count the pills to make sure I have the right amount. Nine in the morning, seven at night. I also make sure they are in the right denominations. Two 250mg Effexor, One 100mg Lamictal and so on.

Finally I put them in my cupped hand, go to the bathroom sink, get a mouth full of water and gulp them down. Then I inspect my hand and the surrounding area to make sure none of them went astray, slipped from my fingers or shot out a nostril. Now I’m finally free to spend the rest of the day or evening ruminating over whether I took my pills or not and if so were they in the right quantities?

This has been the ritual for the past twenty-four years of my life. And if I miss a “feeding” I definitely feel it. Light headedness, trouble focusing, nausea, anxiety…

If you’re Bipolar medication can be a touchy subject. For me it’s the only thing that stands between a life of relative normalcy and being curled up in a ball on the floor begging to be put to sleep like an animal. I just can’t stand the depression. The fragility of my life at times can be very unnerving. I can’t go anywhere or do anything without my beat up Baggie of psychotropic libations designed to manipulate my dopamine and norfenefrine for the best possible reception.

Some people with Bipolar Disorder have chosen not to go the medication route for a number of reasons. People don’t want to give up the manic highs. Others don’t want to gain ten or twenty pounds. There are even some who feel taking medication is an official confirmation of mental illness and they’d prefer not to wear the blue ribbon. And in this day and age of only eating raw foods and free range massaged jicama, others do not want to introduce anything man-made into their bodies. This includes medication that may make them less annoying individuals around mealtime.

I think all reasons for or not taking medication for Bipolar Disorder are justified. Even if someone is very unstable, as long as they are not hurting themselves or anyone else, they should decide what to put in their bodies. Especially when it alters their moods.

What does bother me are those with Bipolar Disorder forever searching for their capsule in a pill bottle of bright and shining armor. They want the ultimate drug that never lets them feel sad and always exist in a perpetual state of “I can’t wipe this grin off my face.” Maybe they had taken a drug at some point in their lives that briefly made the feel that way. Or, they once mistook a manic cycle for a drug’s efficacy. Whatever they felt that one time, they want it back and believe the right drug or combination thereof is out there. They refuse to stop experimenting until they reclaim the crown of perpetual happiness which is rightfully theirs and inexplicably escaped them. And, they snuff-out psychiatrists like spent cigarette butts until they find one willing to indulge their personal quest to find the matzoh.

We all know you can never go back home. And people still looking for the old hood are never going to find the same satisfaction. But as a fellow Bipolar in complete disorder, I can definitely understand the chase and why some of us can’t stop. It’s like settling for a Casio when you once wore a Rolex. They both tell time, but the Rolex made you feel like you weren’t really a prep cook at McDonald’s.

One time a friend came to visit me in San Francisco. She is Bipolar as well. I was in her hotel room as she unpacked and pulled out a similar beat up Zip Lock Baggie as I had tucked away in my sock drawer, only filled with her pills. It made me feel really good and warm inside. Not because we were both stuck in the same Bipolar boat. But, because I thought about how many of us must be out there with our beaten up Zip Lock Baggies taking our psychotropic medications day in and day out each with our own little rituals.

We all may not know each other. If we did we would probably never think to talk about it. However it’s like coming from the same ancestral heritage. You know as individuals with Bipolar Disorder we have certain traditions. Jews wear Yamakas. Hindus wear Turbans. And Bipolars have a special bag for their pills.